Temper
by McRaider
Summary: When John turned around and didn't see his toddler, he felt sick. "Dean!" He cried out, eyes frantically searching the park.


Series: John's boys  
>Title: Tempers<br>Author: McRaider  
>Summary: John was never the perfect father, but he loved his sons, and even if they doubted it from time to time, he did what he thought was best for his boys.<p>

John had a temper, he was fully aware of that. But he'd come from a home where his father regularly made it clear that being beaten was a family standard. John had sworn to himself he would never hurt his boys the way his father had hurt him.

That said, the day he gave his eldest son, Dean, a spanking was the first day in his adult life John could recall crying almost as hard as his son. Dean had just turned four, and the boy thought the world hung around his dad's shoulders. They'd gone to a softball game, it was one of only a few things John still did with some of his friends from the Marines. The men loved Dean, and Dean loved being around the guys.

The game had been somewhat eventful; each team neck and neck for nearly six innings, John was on second, completely in the game and focused. Then one of John's teammates had hit a homerun, John rounded third and made his way towards the plate, his foot touched down and he stepped away, prepared to greet his friend who rounded third as well. Karofsky slid into home, the umpire called him safe and the team cheered. John gave his old friend a pat on the back as they made their way to the bench, when John's eyes honed into a very important missing person.

Willing himself not to panic yet, he glanced around the rest of the park, but his little toddling preschooler was no where to be seen. "Mike, have you seen Dean?" his voice was tight, he tried desperately to pat the panic down. A group of onlookers sat near the right field watching, Dean wasn't over there. The other team's cheerleaders/family were also on the other side, Dean wasn't their either.

"No," Mike paused, and glanced around too, realizing he was wasn't seeing the boy either. "Guys, have you seen Dean?"

The word got around to everyone rapidly, the fireman they were playing against were instantly all too happy to drop the game and start the search. Everyone hollering for little Dean, John felt his body shaking at the thought of something happening to his beautiful little boy. His friends, as well as some of the guys from the other team he didn't know well were also offering him reassurances that Dean was probably just fine.

But John felt sick over the very idea that his son couldn't be found. They'd spent nearly an hour searching for him. John was starting to think his child was gone, that he'd never see his boy again. When he'd come to a tree and called out to his boy, and a second later the four year old dropped from a branch not high above him and giggled. "Boo! Daddy!" The boy cheered.

And suddenly, John saw red, all the worry, all the agony of thinking he'd never see his boy again. And all the child was doing was hiding from him to scare him. Something he'd taken to a lot recently. John wasn't in control of his own body as he suddenly whirled his son around without hesitation and smacked his hand against his son's behind. Jeans or no jeans, the boy felt it because he immediately let out an indignant squeak. "Daddy!" He squealed.

Another smack landed on the child's behind, the grip on the boy's arm hard and squeezing, Dean went from joyful and giggly to squirming and upset, "Stop daddy!" He cried, trying to pull away.

A third smack landed in the same location as the previous two and the tears began, Dean started to sob from pain, his face growing red at being upset and frightened of his father. Another smack and Dean was fearful his father wouldn't ever love him again.

The fifth, and final smack to the bottom of Dean's behind was bruising, as a hand snatched out and gripped John's wrist, "John. Not here," his friend Michael had rarely seen his friend at this level of anger or fear. He couldn't blame his friend, and he most certainly knew that John would never, ever lay a violent hand on his children without good reason, and never to the point of scaring like this, unless he was so upset that he couldn't see straight.

John's entire demeanor changed instantly, he sagged and released his son who backed away from him, only to trip and fall on his sore behind. The sob Dean let slip out was almost as horrifying to John as the fear of never seeing his boy again. "Take him home, I'll let everyone know he's fine. The game is over anyway."

John nodded weakly as he swept his son up into his arms, despite the child's desperate squirming to get away from the man who'd just hit him. Dean was still crying, albeit quietly now, when they arrived at home nearly fifteen minutes later. The tot threw his Impala door open and jumped out of the car and ran inside his house.

Whereas his father just sat there, he felt something wet splash onto his arm, and realized he was crying. Suddenly it was an onslaught, he couldn't stop it. The first silent sob bubbled over and a second later he was hunched over the wheel sobbing, much like his son had only moments earlier. He wasn't sure how long he'd been crying, when he felt the gentle hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.

The beautiful green eyes his son had inherited from his mother, were now staring down at him. She could've been angry, John expected as much. She'd come from a home where her father was considerably stern as well, and expected her to be furious at him for hitting Dean. But instead the eyes were filled with compassion and concern. "Dean came in about twenty minutes ago sobbing. Saying something about you smacking him on his behind, I've calmed him down and he's taking a nap now. But you look like you could use someone to talk to as well."

John gave a shaky sigh and nodded, scooting over his wife sat down beside him on the Impala's bench front seat and he sighed, trying to regain some of his composure. "What happened honey?"

"I hit our baby," he whispered, his face becoming red with sadness.

She shook her head and gripped his hand firmly, "You spanked our baby, and knowing Dean with good reason. Tell me what happened."

"He disappeared. We spent nearly half an hour searching for him. I was so sure I'd lost him, Mary. Our little boy, all I kept seeing was him in some mangled heap somewhere, dying or dead. Or someone kidnapping him and doing something terrible to him. I've never been so afraid in my life," he murmured.

Considering her husband had fought in war, and was a marine, Mary knew that meant a lot. She tried to imagine fearing for her son's life in such a way. It wasn't exactly hard, Dean had a tendency towards trouble, and Mary could think of a few times she too had let him wander off too far. John had struggled with his childhood for years before they'd had Dean, truthfully terrified of the very idea of bringing a baby into the world, knowing he might loose his temper.

"You're not a bad father, John. And I know that's what you're thinking. Don't you dare! It happened, did it upset him, yes. Should you have done it in a public location, while you were terrified? Probably not. But John, sweetheart, parents make mistakes. Do you really think you're the first father who lost control and spanked his child? Hell honey, our fathers did worse than that when they were angry. Honey, this is so fixable. I know for a fact, if you go in there and you apologize to him for doing it when you were angry, he'll understand baby. He thinks you hung the moon and the stars."

"You don't hate me?" He turned to her, looking at his beautiful wife. She caressed his cheek, and like a starving man he leaned into the touch.

"John, I could never hate you," the memory of him lying dead in her arms forever ingrained in her brain told her enough to know this was not a man she could live without. Not now, not ever. "Now, let's go inside, so you can talk to your son."

Nodding, the two got out of the Impala, John a little slower than his wife, and made their way towards the front door. Once inside, Mary went into the kitchen to make dinner, while John took a moment to stare up at the stairs. Slowly he trudged up the stairs towards his son's room. The door was open, and Dean was lying on his tummy playing with his little GI Joes. It was clear whatever anger he had towards his father had melted away into boredom. John knocked on the door and Dean rolled onto his side and looked back at his father. "Daddy," the boy stood and ran towards his father, hurling himself into his arms.

John picked him up with practiced ease; careful of the child's no doubt sore bottom. John moved over to the bed and sat down, placing his son on one of his legs, mindful of him. "Buddy, can we talk?"

"Are you still mad at me?"

John took a slow breath and let it out, "No, I'm angry at myself."

"How come, daddy? "

John met the beautiful green eyes of his son, "When I was little, your age, and younger, my dad used to take his anger out on me a lot."

"He hit you, like you spanked me?"

"No, well…yes, but sometimes more. Dean, when you were born, I swore to myself I would never, ever allow my anger to get the best of me. Don't get me wrong, what you did today was naughty, do you know why?"

Dean looked up at his father, eyes slightly glossy from tears, "Cause you was worried?"

John nodded, "Exactly. But how I reacted was inappropriate, I shouldn't have punished you out of anger, and I'm so sorry for that son. I frightened you, and hurt you. That was just as wrong as you hiding as a joke. I should have waited until I had calmed down to punish you. I should have waited until I was calmer and had more time to consider what would've been an appropriate punishment. Please forgive me son, it was never my intention to hurt you or frighten you."

Dean reached up and turned so he was hugging his father around his neck, pressing his face into his father's shoulder. "I love you daddy. I'm sorry I was bad."

John didn't hesitate, he pulled his boy close and wrapped his arms around the child and held tight for dear life. "I love you too, kiddo. More than I could ever express."

Both Winchesters were quiet for a few minutes, until finally John pulled away from his boy, but kept him on his lap, "Are we okay?"

Dean nodded, "Am I still in trouble."

John smiled and dropped a kiss to his son's forehead, "No. I think you've been punished enough. Lets go clean up for dinner.


End file.
